April 4, 2003

Touchpoint

I guess everyone has their own personal place, tucked away in such secret that they are not even sure where it�s located. The place where, in spite of all that you do to set guard around it, �when exposed�you lose it.

I don�t cry easily. As example, just recently I returned from Florida (I live in Southern California), where I attended my stepfather�s funeral. I was the sole remaining member of the family to be involved in his last few days, to plan for the memorial service, and to wrap up the estate. I cared deeply. But I didn�t cry.

I didn�t try to control my emotions. The tears just did not come.

The day after we returned from our cross-country journey, �the war� began in Iraq. Being sort of a news junkie, I have watched as much of the graphic depictions of the heartbreak and horror of all that is involved...that my emotions can sustain without sinking into a deep depression. I have been disturbed and weary, �but didn�t cry.

But they sneaked up on me and with only a small effort, located my place of vulnerability.

It was a small American boy, about 8 years old. He sat with a grim, tight-lipped�almost smile�strained across his face. His eyes squinting to hold back the tears.

�When will you come back?� He looked up to his Daddy.

Daddy�s voice broke as he answered, �I�m not sure son, but just as soon as I can. I will be back.�

I thought of my 9 year old grandson and how he adores his father.

And I lost it. They found my touch-point.

Thanks for reading.

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